


Survivor's Guilt

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Drama, Fluff, Friendship, Love/Hate, Minor Character Death, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-14
Updated: 2006-09-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 15:12:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The final battle has been fought and won. The Wizarding World has finally been freed from the horrors of Voldemort. Those who have survived are trying to cope with the casualties and the sacrifices made.For Ron Weasley, there is one sacrifice too hard to accept, too difficult to deal with. Can Hermione help him see past his guilt or will he let it take over his life?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: _Much gratitude to **Mizaya** , my wonderful beta, who’s always so encouraging and supportive._

_This is my first try at a multi-chaptered story, so any comments would be greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_"Avada Kedavra," a high-pitched, venomous voice shouted. The sub-human figure was pointing his wand at the red-headed person standing between him and Harry Potter. It was his last barrier to victory. A blinding green light traveled slowly from the tip of the wand straight to…_

"Ron, NO!" Hermione shouted as she woke up with a start. She was panting heavily, agitated from the force of her nightmare. It was the same horrid dream, the same chilling memory, which had haunted her for the last four days.

She sat up shakily in her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. Hermione hated to re-live that day. She hated that such a memory had become ingrained in her mind, that it remained constantly present not only in her waking moments but also in her restless sleep. _Why, Ron, why? Where are you?_

The door to her small hospital room opened slowly. The cold drift of air coming in alerted Hermione, and she quickly wiped her face clean and swallowed her sobs. She didn’t want anybody to see her cry. She didn’t want the healers to think she was weak, and that needed more rest. What she _needed_ was to get up from her hospital bed and find her friends. It had been four long days without seeing them. She _needed_ to see for herself that they were alive; the healer’s word just wasn’t enough.

Hermione tilted her head up and was instantly comforted to see one of her best friends walking directly toward her. _Thank goodness he’s here, alive_. 

She felt warm tears trickling down her face again. This time they were happy tears, and she didn’t care who saw them. A damn had broken, and she was helpless to stop the flow of her tears. She resisted the urge to jump up and give him a crushing hug. Hermione had to admit that her body still felt beaten up, her scars still stung, and it was painful to move. She settled for giving him a wide smile.

"Hi," he said awkwardly, a shadow of guilt covering his otherwise bright green eyes. Limping slightly, he moved to sit at the edge of her bed.

"Harry, you’re all right." Hermione let out a long, thankful sigh; a warm wave of relief flooded her heart. The last time she has seen him, Harry had been on the floor twitching in pain, one of his hands clutching his forehead trying to block the pain that exploded from his bolt-shaped scar.

"I’ve been so worried, but the healers haven’t let me leave the room. You’d think I had been hexed into oblivion," she exaggerated. Taking a closer look at her friend, she quickly added, "But you’re all right, aren’t you?"

Harry smiled slightly, reached forward to squeeze her outstretched hand, and calmly said, "Don’t worry, Hermione. Yeah, I’m all right." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I have a couple of bruises here and there, but that’s all. The limping," he said, pointing to his left leg, "it’s just temporary. It’ll get better in a couple of days."

Hermione’s eyes widened as she realized there was something different about him. 

"Your scar, Harry, it’s gone." She looked at him again, this time carefully, as if studying his forehead like a difficult Transfiguration exercise. "Well, it’s not gone completely, but it’s barely visible," she said in complete awe.

Harry automatically raised his palm to cover the scar that had signaled him out since the day his parents had been murdered. "Lupin reckons that now that Voldemort is dead the connection that had been forged between us through the scar has finally been broken. He thinks that with time it will disappear completely."

__

Of course! Hermione had never really thought of that possibility, but it made perfect sense. With Voldemort no longer alive, the scar that had connected them was now meaningless; it no longer served a purpose. Harry could be free of that constant reminder. He was no longer marked.

__

Hermione smiled affectionately at Harry. She was truly happy for him. The weight of being "The Chosen One" that he had carried for years was now off his shoulders. It was time to enjoy his life – free of guilt. He no longer had to sacrifice anything. It was his turn to seek out what he had lost along the journey, to find happiness, to thrive. 

Her smile faded when she realized that Harry’s face only mirrored sadness, and something else that she couldn’t quite place. _Is it disappointment, grief, guilt, or what?_ There had been many loses along the way, but Harry couldn’t keep carrying such a burden. Loses were inevitable in a time of war. 

"Harry, it’s over. The prophecy has been full-filled. The war is over, you defeated Voldemort. It’s really over," she said, hoping to convey to him the importance of what he had accomplished. 

"It wasn’t me, Hermione, it was all of us."

"Yes, we all worked toward that end, but without you, Harry, it could have never ended well."

"No, Hermione, it was you, the spell you came up with." He swallowed hard. It was evident that it was hard for Harry for him to voice his gratitude. "The sacrifice you, Ron and Ginny made to protect me, that was what helped me last until the end. It was the strength that I needed to defeat him. I could have never done it alone. Thank you," he said, his voice about to crack. 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile proudly. Yes, after months of exhausting research she had found an ancient magic spell that would give Harry the protection Voldemort could never have. It required a sacrifice of at least two people, but it was a small price to pay if it meant the end of Voldemort. 

It was in an old tome of ancient magic buried in Dumbledore’s office where Hermione had found the spell - _Biactura Raresco_. It was a very powerful, protective spell, and it only worked under very specific circumstances. Those who decided to cast such a spell had to be willing to sacrifice a fraction of their own magical power. That fraction of a person’s magical power would then transfer over to the person who needed the protection. It only worked if the sacrifice was made willingly and out of love, not out of coercion.

As soon as Hermione found the spell, she knew without a doubt that it was the spell needed to protect Harry. After much discussion it had been decided that not only two people but four would cast the spell, providing Harry with four times the protection and extra magical powers. Ron, Ginny, Lupin and Hermione had all been determined to cast the spell and there was nothing Harry could have said to change their minds.

Hermione reached over and held Harry’s hand. She knew Harry was uncomfortable with signs of affection, but she also knew that Harry needed to feel appreciated. They now sat in a comfortable silence, but Hermione was secretly restless. She kept glancing at the door hoping to see her _other_ best friend walk in. There were many questions she needed to ask Ron, many things to talk about. _Where is he? Why hasn’t he come? What’s keeping him away?_

She was about to ask Harry about Ron when the door to her room opened again. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the redhead Hermione was hoping to see. Mrs. Weasley walked in looking completely exhausted, signs of too much grief lining her face. 

"Hermione, dear, how are you?" Mrs. Weasley asked candidly.

"I’m feeling loads better. I can’t wait to be released." Hermione looked remorsefully at Mrs. Weasley. She had endured so much during the last month and she was still standing strong. Being forced to stay in her room at St. Mungo’s, Hermione had not had a chance to be a support for Mrs. Weasley. Losing Percy after he had redeemed himself to the family must have been difficult to take. 

"Don’t be in such a rush. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Now you need to rest and get better." Mrs. Weasley then cleared her throat nervously, "I have something for you, dear." She handed Hermione a folded parchment and looked at her sadly, almost apologizing.

Hermione took the parchment with a trembling hand. She had a feeling that this wasn’t good news. She felt a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach. Part of her didn’t want to open the letter, but she had to - it was Ron’s handwriting. _Why did he write? Why isn’t he here?_ She gulped nervously as she opened the letter.

__

Dear Hermione,

__

I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I can’t face anyone right now. I have to take off. I know we had plans, promises… but I just can’t right now. I’m sorry. I’ll keep in touch. 

__

When you see Penny, tell her…tell her that if I could go back in time I would make sure Percy would never have got in the way. Tell her that I’m really, really sorry.

__

Love, 

__

Ron

__

Hermione looked up to see Mrs. Weasley and Harry, her eyes full of answered questions. She knew right away that they knew he had taken off, and had done nothing to stop him.

"Why?" she asked, knowing there was no easy for answer. 

"He’s taken Percy’s death too hard. He needs time to process it all and accept it."

"But, why can he do it here? I could have helped him; we all could have helped him. Now, he’s who knows where and all alone." Hermione was now sobbing uncontrollably. _Dammit Ron, why did you have to take off? Don’t you know that I’m here for you, no matter what? Why couldn’t you trust me?_

"He’s not alone, dear. Arthur convinced him to go up to Romania and visit with Charlie. It’ll be good for him," said Mrs. Weasley in a half-convincing voice.

Harry moved closer to put his arm around her shoulder. Hermione sank into his embrace gratefully to have someone there. But as much as he loved Harry, he wasn’t the one he needed. She needed Ron. She wanted Ron. She was afraid of never seeing him again.


	2. Escaping to Romania

Petrosani, Romania

"Bloody rain," mumbled Ron in between long puffs of air.

Ron Weasley was running at a fast pace along a mountainous course not far from Charlie’s place. There was a determined, almost fierce look to him. 

It was now starting to rain; only a light drizzle, but Ron increased his pace, wanting to get to Charlie’s flat before getting soaked. 

Running had become part of his daily routine since he arrived at Romania, almost two months ago. It was supposed to be a stress reliever, a "cleansing ritual of sorts" – that’s what Charlie’s girlfriend, Helena, had called it. To Ron, it had seemed like a bloody ridiculous idea at first; he much preferred riding his broom, but there wasn’t much else to do. So that’s what he did: He ran everyday, and sometimes even twice a day. 

His days were spent between helping Charlie out in the dragon camp, taking a ride on his broom, and running. He liked to keep busy, not wanting to have nothing to do and inevitably to have to think, to remember. The running had become like a challenge to Ron, a challenge between his will and his body. Ron always pushed himself to run a bit more than the day before, and now his body had built a strong endurance.

During his runs he pushed his body to the limit, wanting to get as tired as possible. His brother had once said he had to cut down, because it looked more like "a punishment" than an exercise session. But Ron was hearing none of it. If it was a punishment, he deserved it. The truth was that he enjoyed the fatigue and soreness of his muscles; at least it took his mind off _other_ things.

Ron was now nearing the last curve in the trail before Charlie’s cottage came into sight. He fervently hoped to find the cottage empty. He really didn’t feel like putting on a front for company, or being forced to engage in conversation. Many of Charlie’s mates liked to pop in on a regular basis, and today Ron was in no mood for them. He felt lousy, and he’d rather just wallow in his pain. What he needed was a couple shots of firewhisky. 

That would help him relax and perhaps forget… at least for the night.

His brother Percy had been dead for two months and he still couldn’t accept it. The way he had died still resonated in his mind. _Why the fuck did he have to take that blasted curse? It wasn’t for him to take!_ "Damn you, Percy, you egotistical bastard!"

Ron couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks people gave him. That was one of the many reasons he had left England; he didn’t need or want anyone’s pity. But it seemed to follow him regardless. It was often that he heard people say to him and Charlie, "Time will heal everything." That was just as bloody irritating as the "I know how you feel" bit.

Those words made Ron’s blood boil, and more often than not he had to walk away before telling people off.

__

"No, you don’t know how I feel. It wasn’t your brother who gave up his life for yours," he wanted to snarl at whomever was trying to soothe him.

__

Nobody really understood how he felt. The truth was Ron didn’t even understand his feelings. He was upset, irritated. He felt powerless and guilty at not being able to do anything. Most of all, Ron felt angry.

Ron felt angry at Percy for betraying his family, and then expecting a smooth, "Welcome back" greeting when he decided to return to the family. He was angry for not sharing with his brother all the details, all the precautions, they had planned to take at the final battle. Maybe if Percy had known he would have stayed away from that curse. He was also angry at himself for being angry at his dead brother. He didn’t know how to deal with so much anger and he was bloody tired of it.

__

It’s all a fucking lie. Time heals shite.

__

Ron used up his last surge of energy and sprinted down to the end of the road. He was relieved to find the cottage in complete darkness. Charlie was probably out with Helena, and that was perfectly fine with him. Helena was a nice enough girl, but seeing his brother and his girlfriend together only served to remind Ron of what he had left behind. 

In truth, Ron missed Hermione terribly. He needed her. He needed the comfort she provided just by looking at him. He needed the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, her voice nagging him to do something or the other. 

__

No, she deserves someone better. _Someone who isn’t a bloody coward._

__

Ron pushed aside all thoughts about the only girl he had ever loved. That’s why he was here, in Romania: to forget. He _needed_ to forget.

_"Alohomora,"_ Ron muttered, and pushed open the front door. In three long strides he reached the settee and let his body drop sloppily onto it. His clothes were wet, but he was exhausted and in no hurry to move. He let his head drop back and closed his eyes.

As often happened, images of his time with Hermione came rushing back.

There she was as a bushy-haired, nosy stranger pointing out that he had dirt on his nose. Ron smiled inwardly at the memory. _She was such a snot!_ He remembered how her deep brown eyes had immediately stood out. Back then it had scared the hell out of him. _How things have changed._

Then there was that first time she threw herself in his arms, back in third year. His body had sure reacted to her; it had been both terrifying and exhilarating. Her hair had tickled his neck, which had caused an involuntary shudder on his part, and he had no idea what to do with his hands. _A complete bloody idiot I was._

Then came fourth year, when Ron had felt an inexplicable surge of jealousy. Hermione was his best friend, not a girly kind of girl. She had no right to look so pretty… not for Krum, anyway. When Ron had seen Hermione dancing with Krum he had felt completely inadequate…rubbish, just like everything he owned. _What a wake-up call that was._

And then came, perhaps, his most cherished but painful memory. It was more painful than the canary incident or finding out that she and Krum had been more than friends. They had spoken openly, gotten closer, but for such a short period of time. Ron sighed heavily, ready to re-live that day.

Godric’s Hollow, two days before the final battle

"Will you please just take a break, Hermione?" Ron pleaded with her. He gently took Hermione’s quill out of her hand and closed the heavy book in front of her.

Hermione gave him an irritated look. "I can’t, Ron." She stubbornly opened her book and picked up her quill to jot down a quick note.

Ron muttered incoherent complaints, his disappointment plainly obvious.

"Don’t you think I’m tired, Ron?" She turned in her chair to face him. "But we can’t afford to waste any time." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "What if there is some key element we might have missed…something important, something that will be-?"

"Hermione, you’re driving yourself crazy." He walked up to her again. "Come here, just relax a bit." This time he tugged on her hand insistently until she relented and followed him to the sofa near the fireplace.

Ron put his arm around her shoulders and she easily relaxed against his body. He loved having her so close. Moments like this one were few and far in between. It was nobody’s fault; they were all too busy training for the final battle. A long but comfortable silence took over them. Ron was staring to doze off when he felt Hermione stir next to him.

"I’m afraid, Ron," she said bluntly. A tear was rolling down her face.

Ron brushed the tear away with his thumb. "It’ll be all right. I’m not letting anything happen to you," he said fiercely.

Hermione took on of his hands in her, and Ron felt how much she was shaking. He squeezed her hand, hoping to give her some comfort.

"I’m not afraid of something happening to me. I’m afraid of something…something happening to you."

Ron could see a myriad of emotions in her eyes. Yes, she was afraid. but she was also worried, and she looked a bit lost. It was probably the same way he felt whenever he thought about something happening to _her._

"Just don’t think about it," he said, overcome with emotion.

Hermione suddenly stood up. "You’re too important to me. I don’t want to lose you." She was now pacing in back and forth in front of him, not quite meeting his eye.

"We haven’t even had a real chance." Her voice was growing desperate. "There hasn’t been any time for us." 

Ron was trying to keep up with her train of thought, but she was babbling phrases, not quite connecting. 

"If I had told you before, maybe we could’ve had… at least… memories, a kiss… a caress. Now we might never know," she finished in a softer voice. 

Her eyes had a shadow of defeat and regret, not common in her. Ron couldn’t stand seeing her like this. He had to say something, he just didn’t know what.

Ron stood up, wanting to get closer to her. "Hermione…"

"Wait, Ron, I just have one more thing to say." Ron saw her close her eyes, and take a deep breath. She seemed to regain her composure. She stepped closer to him, leaned in, and brushed her lips against his tenderly.

"If I don’t say it now and then I never have the chance, I will regret it." She intertwined both of her hands in his and looked directly at him. "Ron, I love you."

If the kiss had taken him by surprise, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. Deep within his heart, there had always been the hope of Hermione loving him. He consciously had buried that hope, knowing they were in a time of war and there was no time for anything but surviving.

But now she was in front of him, more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. She had just poured out her heart to him and he couldn’t keep quiet. It was still a wonder to him that this brilliant woman could love him. 

Ron pulled her even closer, inhaled the smell of her, felt her tremble in his arms, and then whispered in her ear, "I love you too."

It was straight and simple. She knew him too well to expect flowery words or a long written declaration. Ron knew it was all she needed. And now he had all he needed, he had her love.

Hermione broke out in a smile and blushed prettily. The fear in her eyes had been replaced with hope and strength.

"Ron, promise you’ll be careful. You can’t let anything happen to you out there."

"I promise. We’ll both be all right, and when this is all over it’ll be _our_ time," he said fervently.

"Yes, our time, just us."

The air between them changed. The initial hesitancy, the tenderness of a first kiss, turned into a deep desire, a raw need to feel as much of each other as possible. They fell back on the sofa and for a long time there were only kisses, caresses, and muffled moans.

Petrosani, Romania

Ron hastily got up from the settee, wanting to block out that particular memory. It was painful to re-live what he could no longer have. Two very short days – that’s all they had. _Stolen moments, passionate but rushed kisses – that’s all I could give her,_ he thought miserably.

" _Lumos,"_ he mumbled as he opened the kitchen cupboards, looking for a bottle of firewhisky.

He sat at the kitchen table, ready to drown out his bitterness. Before he could even take a sip of the tempting liquid, he heard the unmistakable crack of someone Apparating.

"That’s enough, Ron," said Charlie forcefully as he yanked the bottle of firewhisky out of Ron’s grasp.

"Leave me alone." Looking defiantly at Charlie, Ron took back the bottle and poured himself a glass, which he drank in one gulp.

Charlie looked at Ron dejectedly. "Drinking yourself sick every night won’t bring Percy back."

Ron looked at his older brother with cold fury. "Fuck, Charlie, you think I don’t know that?" He poured himself another glass of firewhisky and asked rudely, "Why aren’t you more upset? Percy was your brother too."

Charlie had now taking a seat across from Ron. He summoned a glass from the nearby cupboard and reached for the firewhisky.

"I am upset. But I refuse to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I have a future to worry about, to work for. Percy would have wanted that."

Ron shrugged his shoulders and laughed bitterly. "A future? Percy no longer has one, he gave that up… for me, remember? 

"That’s exactly why you can’t give up, Ron. Do you want Percy’s sacrifice to be worthless?"

Ron gulped hard. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but his stubbornness still had something to say. "How can I enjoy a future that I’ll have in exchange for my brother’s life?"

"Ron, you didn’t ask Percy to sacrifice himself." Charlie paused, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Nobody wanted it to happen. You have to stop blaming yourself. It’s nobody’s fault." He shook his head sadly. "It was his choice - an impulsive one, but only his to make."

Ron still wasn’t convinced. If Percy had known about the combination of Protective Charms he and Tonks had worked to perfect, then there would have been no need for him to step in front of the blasted curse. It took months to practice an old Protective Charm in combination with a _Reducto_ curse, but they had gotten to a point where they felt satisfied. If the Killing Curse came their way they could deflect it slightly and reduce its power. 

Charlie cut in into his thoughts when he handed Ron a tied-up parchment. "You have to stop ignoring Mum’s owls and Hermione’s Floo calls."

"I don’t want them to see me like this. They’ll worry." Ron suddenly felt ashamed at his lack of purpose, at how he had wasted the last two months doing nothing.

Charlie slapped the back of Ron’s head. "They’re already worried, you prat. You can’t keep running away. Mum already threatened to come fetch you and drag your sorry ass back to the Burrow." Charlie tried to lighten the tension with a joke, but they both knew that their mum’s wrath was something to be scared of.

Ron gave Charlie a small smile. _Maybe Charlie’s right. Maybe it’s time to go back home._


End file.
